


A Day Like Any Other

by dark_lord_cuddleslut



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Force Visions, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Old Friends, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rogue One Spoilers, Slow Build, Spiritwarrior, Stripping, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_lord_cuddleslut/pseuds/dark_lord_cuddleslut
Summary: The Force grants Chirrut Îmwe a vision of death and love, and it is his burden to decide how to use it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stick to canon as best as I could, given how little we have. My information is from the movie, Wookieepedia, and the Rogue One Visual Guide. This fic may not be timeline-accurate with my other fic.

There was a gasp in the quiet.

Sweat dotted Chirrut Îmwe’s forehead. His heart pounded in his chest, which heaved at first with panicked breaths, but quickly settled. “Baze?” he whispered, but was only answered by his companion’s soft snoring. Chirrut sighed, exhaling slowly to steady himself. He sat up, folding his legs in front of him and opening his eyes into the darkness. Nearly featureless and colorless in the dark, they caught a faint glimmer from the illuminated crescent of NaJedha. He stared into nothing - through it. Past it. Minutes passed as he contemplated the meaning of what he had just seen. Chirrut did not believe in nightmares, only visions, granted by the Force.

He could not see the room, but it was familiar to him - a small living space for the two of them in what once may have been part of the housing for pilgrims to the Holy City of Jedha. It was not difficult to hear Baze, who was contentedly snoozing under a pile of blankets, but Chirrut could feel his presence. It was only in the throes of unconsciousness that the former assassin was calm. He slept deeply, but armed; protecting Chirrut was a duty that not even sleep would stand in the way of. The monk sat with his back to the cracked stone wall, bundled up against the cold of the desert night as he considered waking his protector. “Baze?” he asked again. Baze’s heavy breathing quieted. “Baze…”

“What is it?” Chirrut was quiet for a long moment. “Chirrut?”

“I had another vision.”

Baze grumbled, displeased with having to drag himself out of sleep for another one of the monk’s night terrors. “It was just a bad dream, everything is fine, see?” He gestured pointlessly around the room.

“I saw my own death.”

It gave him only the slightest pause. “It was just a bad dream, Chirrut.”

They shared a silence. There was more to the vision, but he knew Baze was already easing back into sleep. His lips pursed as he stared across the room. There was more to the vision. Much more. Sometimes the Force spoke in symbols. Death could be a symbol, but what of the other things he saw? Chirrut could feel the back of his hand brushing against his companion’s cheek as if the vision was paused in that very moment. His eyes closed. Given his blindness, the tone of the darkness did not change.

Baze was staring at the ceiling.

***

Oftentimes the days ran together, blurring and fading like everything else on the weather-worn moon. Like any other day, they sat across from each other at the table for a morning meal before making their way out to the main street through NiJedha to guard the Temple of the Whills and search for stolen kyber crystals. Like any other day, Chirrut would sit on the smooth stone ruins to preach, while Baze Malbus loomed in the shadows, heavily armed and armored. Like any other day, thousands of people passed them by, often never to be seen again. For what reason would there be to live on a destroyed moon? Pilgrims would come and go, traders would flock in and out with the seasons, and the faceless Imperial presence would rotate through personnel without notice, leaving the few who actually inhabited the holy city to disappear into the throngs.

Chirrut could feel the warmth of the sun on his face; He could tell midday was approaching quickly. The dream had not left his mind. Baze knew his charge was more meditative than usual. The monk would often be gazing into the crowds, preaching the Force and its power, seeking alms, trading futures for trinkets. Today, however, he was quiet, often glancing back at Baze. The guard was generally not one to ask questions, knowing Chirrut would eventually make known whatever was on his mind.

Like any other day, the sun sank below the city walls, and Chirrut gathered his robes around him. Baze came down from his obscured perch to sit beside his companion. Chirrut smiled and shivered slightly. He wasn’t cold.

“Hey, let’s go early tonight, yeah? Gonna be cold. Looks like you already cold, heh!” Baze raised his eyebrows and grinned. He patted Chirrut on the back, and the monk’s shivering stopped.

“Yes, my friend.” Chirrut was smiling into the distance as he reached for his quarterstaff and began getting to his feet. “It’s been… a quiet day, anyway.” Notching his staff into the cracked ground, he rose to his feet, waiting for Baze’s footsteps to lead the way.

Like any other day, they walked home, side-by-side, musing over the events of the day among the thinning crowds, with only the approaching twilight to light the way.

***

The heavy security door closed behind them with a metallic thunk. Baze switched the lights on for his own benefit before starting to unburden himself of his armor. Ever the subtle one of the pair, he let each piece drop to the ground with a variety of clunks and thuds - except for his heavy repeater, which was set down quite carefully - humming as he unsnapped, unbuckled, and unclicked. 

Despite his very sensitive hearing, it was a cacophony that Chirrut maybe even enjoyed at the end of the day. Mindfully, he unstrapped his weapon sling and set both it and his bowcaster down against a couch. He gave some thought to removing his outer robe when he became distracted with Baze’s haphazard routine. Malbus was leaving a trail of belts and armor plates to the kitchen, where he was already rummaging through the pantry. Though robbed of his vision long ago, it was easy to hear every move Baze made. _Ever the subtle one_.

When Baze looked back, Chirrut was smiling and gazing blindly in his direction, fingers, hooked into his robe as if he had forgotten he was unfastening it. “Hey you old fool, what’s wrong with you today, huh?”

Chirrut returned to unfastening his outer robes. “What do you mean?” He asked defensively.

“You’re all…” He knitted his brow, shrugging. “I don’t know. You’re quiet. Like you’re not here or something.”

The monk eased himself down into an overstuffed couch, finishing the task of opening his outer robe. He had been quiet. He had also not been present - he was still in the dream from the night before. He was still lying on his back in the dirt, feeling his breaths come to a slow end. He was still being held by Baze, who had Chirrut’s mantra on his lips. He was caressing Baze’s hand with his thumb as he felt his consciousness slipping away. He was…

“Chirrut!”

“I’m meditating!”

“You’re full of it, and you know you can’t lie to me.” Baze set a plate down on the counter and started to pile it with food. He was right. “At least tell me if you’re in danger, okay? How am I supposed to keep you safe if you keep secrets from me?” He turned back to Chirrut, plate in hand, and started walking over to the couch.

“I’m… not in danger.” Chirrut’s reply was soft. Baze set the plate down on the table and settled into the couch next to him. In the quiet after his response, the heating unit clicked on. It was no distraction to the monk, whose eyes had closed as he drifted in and out of the vision. 

_Chirrut, no! No! Don’t go! Please!_ Chirrut’s eyes closed a little tighter as the vision asserted itself. _I love you! You can’t die!_ He felt the Force grasp at him, his mind blurring, his body becoming heavy. His friend’s voice was echoing, losing fidelity - first a panicked yell, a cry, a sob, a whimper, a whisper, and then nothing.

***

It was a familiar smell - sand, singed cloth, and plastisteel. Dust in the air floating through the heating unit and burning. Baze’s breath tinged with beer, and the cold dryness of Jedha that distorted it. Chirrut felt his back on the ground. As his consciousness began to return, there was a rushing sound in his ears that sounded like the din of battle. The vision.

“Chirrut!” Baze gasped. He managed to fall out of his seat fast enough to allow Chirrut to land on him, instead of the hewn rock floor.

Then the sounds started becoming more clear. The table falling over, an explosion. The plate hitting the ground, the control panel cracking open. The sputtering of the heating unit, blaster bolts too near to him. He was going to die, just as the Force had told him. There was no table, no plate, no couch, no room, only the breeze on his face carrying the smell of charred flesh, and… Baze. Baze, who was looming over the semiconscious Chirrut, cradling him, shaking him, calling his name.

Chirrut raised his hand, but before Baze could grab it, it landed softly on Baze’s cheek. The monk’s eyes shot open. No, this was different. “Baze?”

Baze’s eyes widened. He was stunned into a sudden silence. His breath hitched in his throat. “Chirrut?”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay, Chirrut. Do you know where we are?”

“Scarif.”

Baze had never heard the name before. “...Scarif? I… we’re home, Chirrut. Jedha.”

Chirrut spent a long moment blindly and quietly gazing up at Baze. Unexpectedly, he smiled. “The Force has shown me something, my friend. Something I must tell you.”

“Nononono,” Baze started, helping the monk get back to the couch. “Force later, rest now. The Force can wait.” His voice was soft and stern, the former being a very unusual trait for the sizeable temple guardian.

“The Force warns me not to take my time. I promise I will rest, but listen…”

Baze sighed heavily as he sat down beside Chirrut. “Okay. Tell me.”

“I love you, Baze.” He didn’t hesitate. Half-looking at Baze. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Baze went from rolling his eyes in acquiescence to feeling something that wasn’t anger or frustration, for once. “You’re… in love with… with me?” For a few seconds, he considered it. “But… Chirrut…” His brow knit. He was afraid.

Chirrut could almost feel the nervous throb of Baze’s heart. It pounded in his chest, accentuated by the quiet of their room and the silence between them. He felt Baze’s hand slide gingerly around his. It enveloped his hand almost completely, his skin rough from years of battle, but warm. Chirrut grasped it gently. A soft, contented hum escaped him, even though he expected the moment would be fleeting. “I am sorry, my friend.”

Baze was fighting for the right words as he gave Chirrut’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Chirrut…” Talking was never his strong point. He was a brute. A fighter. Baze Malbus was by no means an idiot, but when it came to things as complicated as emotions, he never knew how to deal with them. He preferred speaking with his heavy repeater, even where it perhaps was not appropriate. Baze Malbus had never been in love. He didn’t know what love felt like, figuring it was just the idle pursuit of the privileged and the bored. In more delicate matters, he often followed his friend’s lead, preferring to menace in ways that Chirrut could not. But now? Now Baze was on his own. Alone to make a most peculiar strategic decision.

There was a tug at Chirrut’s hand as he felt himself being pulled forward. Baze slipped a hand around Chirrut’s waist, a hand that wandered along the folds of his outer robes, across his chest, and curved around to the back of his neck. In the same instant that he could feel Baze’s breath on his skin, their lips met. Surprised and overtaken by the feel of his friend’s skin so intimately close to his own, Chirrut inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. They were suspended, almost frozen, neither willing to be further apart from each other.

The kiss faded, and Baze rested his forehead against Chirrut’s. Their dwelling carried on as normal; It was like any other day, until it wasn’t. The heating unit glowed faithfully, pinging and creaking occasionally. Tiny, steadily blinking lights indicated the flow of power to the kitchen. There was a faint light from a monitor on standby, set into a panel of switches and buttons. And there, on the couch, were the Guardians of the Whills, close to each other in a way that only lovers ever are. Under the artificial lights, Chirrut clung to Baze’s clothes, and Baze cradled Chirrut’s head. The whole of the room was still, from the lights flickering with the frigid breeze, to the upturned plate of food on the floor, to the security monitors and their whining capacitors, to the monk and his companion, the assassin, gazing at each other in uncertainty.

“Chirrut, I have never felt… this way… about anyone… I don’t know what to do.” Baze was uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

“I think you do know.”

“I know what I _want_ to do….”

“Let the Force guide you.”

Baze paused for a moment, wondering what the Force would want him to do. He had never really considered the Force’s opinions on such things. What if this was not meant to be? Would the Force somehow show its disapproval? Would it be angry? Would it hurt Chirrut? There was a modicum of worry on his face just before Chirrut interrupted his thoughts with another kiss. Then another. First gentle, then, perhaps, even needy. Baze whispered his companion’s name between kisses, gathering him closer. Chirrut found himself surrendering just as he had so many times to the Force, letting Baze take him where he wanted, content simply to be so unexpectedly close to him.

“...Closer.” Chirrut whispered, his voice wavering. Baze obliged, wrapping his arms around him and taking him into a slow embrace. Chirrut shuddered, burying his face in his friend’s uniform, clutching at him, breathing in the scent of sand and machine oil that clung to Baze. A hum resonated deeply within him. “I love you, Baze.”

Baze’s hands were wandering the monk’s back, enjoying the feel of the textured cotton robes and the warmth beneath them. “I… love you… Chirrut.” He stammered, uttering it almost like a question to himself, surprised by how true he found the words. He dipped his head down, and the tip of his nose brushed against Chirrut’s hair. He breathed in, holding his friend tighter.

***

The sun was cresting the Jedha City mesa, slowly flooding it with light. Like a river of pilgrims, it flowed down the main street and poured into Tythoni Plaza as the earliest merchants were heading out with their carts. 

In the temple dwelling, a beam of light was traveling across the wall. As minutes passed, it shifted and elongated as the angle of the sun changed in a hazy window facing the morning. When at last it crossed the eyes of Baze Malbus, they opened, squinting against the intrusion. In an instant, he remembered the night before with an expression of disbelief. He moved to brush his hair out of his eyes, but found his hand pinned to the couch. The couch?

The Guardians of the Whills had not gone to their beds that night. Too unwilling to move, they ended up together on the couch, drifting down against it as the night wore on and sleep took them. Chirrut was still dozing in Baze’s lap, one arm draped across his legs, loosely clutching at his sandworn pants. As Baze looked down at his friend, his eyes widened. He simply sat still and stared at Chirrut. Cautiously loosening a hand, he pressed it gently against Chirrut’s robes, moving it along his side, along his shoulder, his arm, his back…

Chirrut was awake, eyes closed, content to allow Baze to explore as he wished. It was nowhere he hadn’t been touched before - even by his companion. Chirrut had been carried on more than one occasion, picked up off the battlefield, embraced, and mended. It was nice, he thought, to feel Baze’s touch without being wounded or in danger.

The morning was fading too early. It was not the light of midday, but a second night eclipsing the dwelling. Shadows swept the room. Baze looked up at the darkening room, narrowing his eyes. He clutched Chirrut a little tighter, a protective instinct long suppressed, and his eyes darted to the heavy repeater leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. They were still heavy with sleep, but even in his half-awake state, the creeping darkness was sobering.

 _Clouds_ , he thought, and sighed, the tension in his face subsiding. Confusion faded into amusement. Baze looked down at his companion, still under the impression that the monk was sleeping. _Right?_

As if on cue, there was a flash and the sharp crack of thunder. It startled him, and he cursed under his breath. Chirrut’s lips wrinkled into a smile as he stifled a laugh. “Are you o--”

“Tā mā de!” Baze yelled, startled again. Chirrut couldn’t stifle the laugh any longer. He rolled his head back to look up at Baze, who had begrudgingly started to laugh as well. “You scared the shit out of me!”

The corners of Chirrut’s eyes wrinkled, his face plainly showing his delight. “Well, I wanted to know what you are like when you’re alone. Or, at least, when you _think_ you are alone.”

Baze looked playfully stern, but when he contemplated what Chirrut might have felt while they were laying together in silence, he cringed. “Cào, you were awake the whole time?”

Chirrut only grinned in return. Baze was struck by the expression, and reached down to place a rough hand on Chirrut’s cheek. The monk closed his eyes and placed his own hand atop Baze’s, his thumb idly brushing against the side of his hand. The teasing subsided into adoration. Contentment.

“I think I owe a great debt to the Force.” Baze said softly, caressing Chirrut’s cheek.

Chirrut smiled. “The Force only wants all living creatures to follow their path without resistance. For us to live with contentment - to feel fulfilled - there can be no debt.”

Another rumble of thunder rolled over NiJedha as rain began to pelt the roof of their dwelling. Without the warmth of the sun, a rainstorm would be nearly freezing, and Baze certainly had no intention of shivering out in the cold all day. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, but reminded himself that even Chirrut thought the happenings of the day were the Force’s intervention. It wasn’t the idea of shirking his duties that excited him, but the chance to continue with Chirrut where they had fallen asleep last night.

“Are you hungry? Let me make us something to eat, ok?” Baze raked his fingertips through Chirrut’s hair. He wasn’t about to lift the monk out of his lap, who seemed quite content to lie there.

***

Baze brought a bit of order to the dwelling, righting the table and picking up the upturned dish, before returning to Chirrut with a plate and two cups of caf. Chirrut was sitting in the space vacated by his companion, enjoying the fading body warmth. He could smell everything Baze brought before it was mentioned - in fact, Baze had stopped informing Chirrut about a lot of things years ago. His senses were keen, and the bond they shared often transcended the need for words. They were a matched pair in many ways, even before the vision.

Had it not been for the fact that they were both famished, perhaps breakfast would have been delayed for another couple of hours, but even Chirrut was eager to start on his bread and caf. He slid to the edge of his seat, keeping one hand free to settle on Baze’s leg as they ate. It was as if some semblance of normal had settled again between them, even though normal was a little different than before. There was affection between sips of caf, and a growing ease with their newfound closeness, soft voices and quiet laughter, the clinking of cups, and the contented silence where their lips met.

Rain dappled the skylight with an ever-changing pattern of drops and bits of icy slush. In the moments where they were not caught in each other’s gaze, they watched the patterns form as they leaned together for warmth. When the heating unit pinged on again, they didn’t bother moving, satisfied to be so close to one another. Caf cups drained, plate emptied, and barring pleasant weather, there was little left to do but their usual chores. Chirrut knew, however, that the chores would be willing to wait when there were more important things to tend to.

“I haven’t seen your face in a very long time.”

“It looks old. You aren’t missing anything.”

Chirrut made a face. “Mh. Let me see…” His hand easily found Baze’s face by the sound of his voice, his fingers first touching his lips. Chirrut smiled. “I remember what these look like…”

Baze kissed his companion’s fingers, and smiled against them. “Well, if you ever have a hard time remembering…”

Chirrut laughed softly, allowing his fingers to trail across to his cheek, and then traveled along his jawline. He tugged playfully at his beard before running his fingers through it. He grinned. “A little grey now?”

“...maybe.” Baze was nearly 40 now, and bore the marks of a difficult life. Grey had already begun to streak his beard years ago. “Only because you give me a hundred reasons to panic every day of my life.”

There was a subtle, mischievous grin on the monk’s face. He spread his hand, allowing the tips of his fingers to mingle with the thick locks of hair that framed Baze’s face. One of the first things people notice about another person was suddenly an intimate detail to Chirrut, who never had the opportunity to touch his companion’s hair. They had known each other for at least twenty years by now, and knew nearly everything about each other after long days guarding the temple with little better to do than talk about their lives. Such a simple thing, mentioned only in passing, became Chirrut’s focus, so much so that his other hand drifted up to tangle gently in Baze’s unkempt mane. “Your hair is messy.”

“You’re messing it up!” Baze protested, but didn’t pull back.

“No, it was a mess before.” Chirrut’s grin was renewed. Baze made a face. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not blind.”

“Yes, you are, you old fool.”

Chirrut tugged lightly on Baze’s hair, just enough to tilt his head back. Baze’s eyes closed, and he couldn’t help a pleased hum. Chirrut tilted his head curiously at the reaction, and pulled a little harder.

“Ah!” Baze uttered, a shudder passing across his body. 

Chirrut released him quickly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I… I… eh… ” Baze half-confessed, side-eyeing Chirrut. “You don’t need to let go.”

Chirrut gave it some thought. After considering what sounded like an offer for a long moment, he took Baze’s hand and stood. Baze made a questioning sound as he stood up as well, ready to follow wherever he was led. Baze always followed where Chirrut went.

Even - perhaps especially - when Baze had absolutely no idea where he was going.

***

Something had boiled over. All it took was a touch, or a gasp, or some other unspoken invitation for Baze to put his hands on Chirrut. The calmness with which they conducted themselves earlier was ending, and quickly. Suddenly, they remembered that love was more than just affection. Baze was grasping and groping wherever he could reach, tugging a moaning Chirrut against him, kissing him desperately.

“I never want you to feel alone again…” Baze whispered against Chirrut’s cheek, as his lips traveled along his jawline. He clutched the back of the monk’s head. He always felt possessive of Chirrut, but the feeling was intense now in ways it never had been before. The words made his beloved friend grow weak, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m never going to leave your side, Chirrut. Never.” 

There was a sudden flash and instant peal of thunder that caused Chirrut to jump in Baze’s hold. His nails dug into Baze’s jumpsuit. The lights flickered and died, along with the heating unit, which pinged several times as it cooled. “The generator.” Chirrut remarked, knowing he didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“It’s okay. I’ll get it going again.” Baze kissed his forehead, his breathing still heavy. He was reluctant to move, gazing at Chirrut, his fingers raking through his short, dark hair. “I’ll be right back, ok?” Improbably, their eyes met. Baze was quiet, transfixed by Chirrut’s milky blue irises.

“Stay with me.” There was a strange stirring in Baze Malbus. He sensed a weakness in Chirrut’s words that he had never felt before. “See me the way I see you.” The chill had not begun to set in, but the darkness was instant. Baze could indeed see almost as little as Chirrut, now. The quiet was overwhelming. “Like this -” Chirrut places his hands on Baze’s sides, slowly moving them up, conforming the shape of his hands to Baze’s masculine form.

Baze was happy to indulge, allowing his hands to wander the monk’s robed body. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of skin on cloth, making a picture of Chirrut’s body in his mind. He was much more muscular than Baze realized, even though he had seen Chirrut nearly nude in the past. He couldn’t help but remember those rare moments with clarity - early morning meditations where his loose robes had slipped, rushed moments where clothing came between life and death, or relaxing with him in the temple baths. “I want to touch you…” Baze didn’t know where the words came from, but it was as if he couldn’t help uttering them. “... to see you. Every inch of you, Chirrut.”

It wasn’t exactly a warm night, if the icy rain on the skylight was any indication, and with the generator out, they’d have no heat. Chirrut considered the thought of being naked in the cold. The thought of being naked in front of Baze was the next thought, but certainly the more petrifying of the two. He was already imagining Baze’s hands against his bare skin. As soft and warm as they were on his face, how would they feel on his back? His hips?... Absent-mindedly, he began to slip out of his outer robe, peeling it slowly off his shoulders, and allowing it to fall down to his hips. Baze gingerly took one of Chirrut’s hands, leading him closer to their beds.

“I’ll keep you warm.” Baze promised, using his free hand to begin unfastening the top of his jumpsuit. There was a comforting tone to his voice as he clutched Chirrut’s hand a little tighter.

***

They stood face-to-face between the two beds, each watching the other undress himself. Baze’s coveralls were pulled down to his waist, halfway unbuttoned. After removing a sleeveless undershirt, his torso was bare. He took one of Chirrut’s hands and placed it on his skin, in the center of his chest. “This is where I keep you.”

Chirrut could feel Baze’s heart beating steadily underneath his skin. His hand lingered there for a moment before he allowed it to move across Baze’s collarbone, where it could rest against the curve of his neck. His other hand busied itself with deftly slipping open the knot that tied his skirts around his waist. They slid down his body, taking his upper robes with them. Baze heard the cotton layers rub against each other and sink onto the floor. His hands slipped around Chirrut’s waist and pulled him close. Baze tucked his face into Chirrut’s neck, holding him, swaying slightly. “I love you.” Chirrut said simply, half-whispering.

Baze’s hands wandered up Chirrut’s back, his fingers committing the shape of his muscles to memory. “I love you.” He echoed. “Always remember.” Baze had begun to worry about his old friend, who had been quiet for a few minutes. Hearing his voice was like finding an oasis in the desert. “I will always protect you.”

Chirrut smiled. “How could I forget when you keep reminding me?” He chided playfully.

“So you want me to stop fawning over you?” Baze huffed.

The monk’s hands slid down Baze’s body, finding the zipper that his uniform was hanging on. “Never!” His voice had a sing-song quality to it.

“A-are you--” Chirrut pulled the zipper down, slipping a hand into Baze’s uniform, and holding it up with his other hand. His fingers mingled in the trail of hair running down his belly, then around to caress the top of Baze’s hip. “Chirrut?” His hand followed the curve of Baze’s waist, circling around to settle on his bare ass. “A-ah…” His muscles flexed under Chirrut’s hand. Obligingly, he grabbed a little harder, and pulled Baze’s hips against his own. “Chirrut-!” Baze gasped, unable to keep himself from pressing back against the monk.

Chirrut moaned. He clearly felt Baze’s arousal press against his leg. He buried his face in Baze’s chest and clutched at him. For a few desperate seconds, they both felt just how long they had been waiting to be this close. Chirrut released his grasp on Baze’s uniform, and it fell to the floor with a heavy rustle.

Even bereft of his coverall and armor, Baze Malbus was an intimidating man. Tall and muscular, a warrior that looked every bit the part, set into umber skin. Thick locks of hair, some tied up into messy dreadlocks hung down the sides of his face. He had some amount of a belly with a dusting of dark, dark brown hair. He looked like he had indeed spent nearly 40 winters on the harsh, cold, and sandy Jedha, hefting the heavy repeater and its enormous drum of ammo. While others could have mistaken him for a beast of burden, Chirrut knew how agile and deadly his companion could be.

Baze shivered slightly, either from the cold or the anticipation. Chirrut gently laid his hands on him, making a map of Baze’s hips, his abdomen, the sides of his thighs. Reluctantly, he turned his hands on himself, loosening the knot on his leggings and slipping out of them. Baze couldn’t help but look, but in the darkness, saw nothing but a faint shimmer of ambient light on Chirrut’s skin.

***

“Come,” Chirrut suggested, taking one of Baze’s hands and leading him to his own bed. Chirrut peeled back the covers and climbed in, shivering at the touch of cold blankets on his naked body. With his back to the wall, he tugged gently at Baze’s hand.

Baze bit his lip, looking down and praying for the lights to come back on. He closed his near-useless eyes, imagining how Chirrut looked in his bed - pale, taupe skin, taut muscled limbs mingling against the messy sheets, gazing into the depths of those endless cloudy eyes. Baze lowered his heavy frame and stepped into bed, sliding under the covers beside Chirrut. After the rustling had settled, they breathed in a meaningful silence. Baze’s mind ran hot as he processed the fact that he was embracing his dearest, oldest friend, disrobed, in what now felt like _their_ bed.

 _Our bed_ , Baze thought, and pulled Chirrut closer. Their unclothed bodies pressed together, each suddenly very helpless to hide the honesty of their flesh. There was no mistaking how intense their desire for each other was becoming. “How long have you kept this secret?” Baze asked.

“I was… seventeen when I knew. We were still training together.” Chirrut was almost close enough for his lips to brush across Baze’s skin. “It was just after I lost my sight. The only thing I really missed was… watching you. Watching you… fight… watching you smile…” He brought his fingertips to Baze’s lips. It was not difficult to make the former assassin smile. “Ah…” Chirrut traced the line that Baze’s warm smile formed. “Yes. That smile. The one you used to hide when you thought someone might have been looking.”

Baze grasped Chirrut’s wrist, gently pulling the hand away from his lips, and kissed him firmly. “My friend…” Baze trailed off. Again, their lips met, softly, again, again, hands tangling in hair, clutching, again. The sound of moist skin and quiet hums mingled with the silence. “Chirrut… Chirrut Imwe..” His arms tightened around the monk. Their bodies writhed slowly, unable to help moving against each other, even as the kisses slowed to a stop, and their heads came to rest together. With roving hands against skin and rhythmic breathing, they committed maps of their bodies to memory, sharing a tactile gaze that Chirrut felt could not possibly last long enough. “I see you.”

The monk exhaled with a shiver. His hips rolled into Baze’s, and he realized he was losing control of his want. His body ached, possessed of a need to thrust into Baze. He was made lightheaded by the desperate thoughts that drifted through his mind. He remembered his vision, how his last thoughts were only of wanting his friend closer. Now he was facing a very different death, still wanting the same thing. Closer, closer than possible. Chirrut grabbed a fistful of Baze’s hair, tilting his head back and exposing his neck. Baze gasped. After so many years of being Chirrut’s keeper, his guardian, he felt himself in the possessive grasp of his own charge. Gladly, he acquiesced. Chirrut’s lips met with the bare skin of his neck. Baze’s eyes rolled and shut as he exhaled a shuddering breath. “Baze,” Chirrut whispered between kisses, “I want to touch you.”

The sound of those words strung together in Chirrut’s voice was enough to make Baze moan. The same thoughts were repeating over and over in his head. _Our bed. My friend. My beloved. My Chirrut. I want him. I need him._ “Please, yes.” There was an aching need in Baze as physical as it was emotional. Despite the invitation, he was not expecting the touch of his friend’s fingers to his belly, a touch that lingered and wandered to his thigh, brushing against his arousal. Baze’s breath hitched in his throat. Fingers closed around him, a caress first, then a grasp. “Chirrut…” He couldn’t keep from thrusting needily into his hand. _I need him._

Chirrut had let go of Baze’s hair, easing the intensity of his kisses to nestle his head against his lover’s neck. It was a strikingly intimate moment between the two guardians, stripped and embracing, two quiet voices in the darkness confessing years of stolen glances and missed chances. Chirrut began his familiar chant , his lips brushing against Baze’s neck. _I am one with the Force, the Force is with me, I am one with the Force, the Force is with me, I am one with the Force, the Force is with me._ Baze is clutching him, arms and legs in a tangled mess. Chirrut’s thumb crests the head of Baze’s cock, slick with precome. He moans, chanting the monk’s name. _Chirrut, Chirrut…_ coming closer to the edge, closer.

Baze feels Chirrut’s hand cup around the top of his shaft, the mere feeling of their skin touching in a new configuration sending his eyes shooting to the back of his head. When he thrusts forward, their bodies meet in the middle. Chirrut embraces him with a leg, using the leverage to rub his cock long and slow against Baze’s. “Oh, my love…” Chirrut’s voice broke from chanting as he felt his lover’s hand wrap around them both. Baze’s grasp was more firm, insistent, it was the touch of a man intent on giving Chirrut his much-needed release. “I see you.” Baze’s eyes went damp.

There was a moment of stillness. Chirrut was holding a breath that was caught in his throat as his body seized, and Baze could feel him come between their bodies, warm and wet. Baze heard his name sputtered. “I love you, Chirrut. I love you, I--” he was interrupted by his own shuddering orgasm, coming to the feel of Chirrut clinging tighter to him. There were several short gasps at a pitch the monk had never before heard his guardian utter, somewhere halfway between a moan and a sob. Then, only breathing, and the sound of the freezing rain pelting the walls.

***

Minutes passed, minutes of disbelief, and love, and relief. Baze kissed Chirrut’s sweat-dappled forehead. “Are you okay?” He asked finally, giving a voice to the quiet and uncertainty in the air.

“Yes.” Chirrut’s face lit up with a broad smile. “Yes.” He exhaled a sound that was almost a laugh. “But there is one thing…” Baze made a questioning sound. “I don’t want to move, but… eh… we should probably… get clean?”

Baze laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll take care of it.” This close, he could feel the flush in Chirrut’s face. He kissed the monk’s forehead again before reluctantly pushing away, out from under the blankets. “Ah! It’s freezing!” He spit out a litany of curses as he stumbled into the pitch-black room. “ _Shiii na-de!_ ” He picked the nearest thing off the floor and used it to wipe off his stomach.

“If I find out you’re using my robe!” Chirrut yelled.

“How the _fei xui zan_ should I know, it’s dark!”

“Oh I have _so_ much sympathy for you right now.”

Baze cackled, wandering cautiously back to the bed where his lover lay. “I love you, Cricket.”

“There’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time.” Chirrut attempted to not notice the drag of the cloth against his front as Baze cleaned him as best he could.

Tossing the cloth aside, Baze eased back into bed and settled against Chirrut. “Being so close to you… it bring back good memories. Happy memories.” Much to the monk’s protesting, he knit his frigid fingers together with Chirrut’s. “A fond old name for a fond old feeling.” Baze sighed and closed his eyes.

“I love you too, Baze. My dear, old friend.”

“Not _that_ old.”

“Older than me.”

“By three months!”

They teased each other and laughed as if nothing were different, nothing had changed between them. They were seventeen again, relaxing in the kyber pools after another long day of sparring, exhausted and sore, but happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the SpiritAssassin community for being wonderful and supportive. Baze's nickname for Chirrut, "Cricket" was borrowed from "Cricket" by peppermintquartz (http://archiveofourown.org/works/9330359). Thank you so much for reading, please comment if you have time, it really encourages me to keep writing and sharing. I've been working on this particular piece since mid-December 2016 (whew!). For more Spiritassassin content, please visit my Tumblr at http://baze-also-yes.tumblr.com. I am always taking requests for ficlets, descriptions, and other short prose and poetry. May the Force be with you!


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